Sleeping Cities
by coeur-d'astronaute
Summary: Prompt Generator #1: The lead character is saved from a mugging by an awkward historian.


**Smoaking Canary: Prompt Generator #1**

_The lead character is saved from a mugging by an awkward historian._

* * *

_Not the needle, nor the thread, the lost decree  
__Saying nothing, that's enough for me  
__... and at once I knew I was not magnificent._

"I'll see you tomorrow, Paul," Sara called, balancing the cigarette between her lips as she spoke. "No, I got it, get out of here," she waved and smiled, fumbling with her lighter, trying to get it to catch. She waved a second later to her co-worker as he disappeared down the dimly lit street as the flame grew and lit her face in dim, weak orange glow. "Fuckhead," she grumbled under her breath, shoving her lighter into her pocket as he turned a corner.

For a moment, she stood there in the quiet city, hearing the whir of cars from the bridge, slow and less crowded than normal waking hours. She inhaled and flicked the keys absently in her fingers a few times surveying the lonesome street. This was her favourite time of night - the few hours before dawn, when the city wasn't a city anymore, and she felt alone while being completely surrounded by people who were sleeping and so very much lost to her. There was a magic that came at this hour. Sara shook her head to herself. It wasn't magic. It was just this feeling of being the only living person in a world of people. To find some sort of solace in being alone while not being alone. To be completely unguarded and unencumbered by the responsibility of maintaining whoever she was supposed to be during the other hours of the day. This was the time she was the most Sara she could be.

Leaning against the brick facade of the bar, she kicked her boots against the damp concrete and flicked ash near the downspouts leaky opening. This was her favourite time of night because it made her feel so lonely, and sometimes she craved that feeling after spending hours and days surrounded by loud and unruly customers and even more annoying friends or family members. For just a moment, she was an island, she was solitary, she was at peace that only comes when there's no need to put on a show or feel the need to talk. There was no mask on her face anymore, for just a few minutes. She felt relieved and quiet in her very bones, not having to maintain the illusion of herself.

The smoke filled her lungs and calmed her heart and busy brain. She breathed in the oil, dirty, dampness that hung in the city at all times. Her father hated her working so late, so deep in the Glades, but it paid the bills. Deep down, Sara just wanted him to admit that he hated the fact that the only thing she'd amounted to was a bartender in a sleazy joint in the worst part of town. She wanted him to admit that she disappointed him on many levels. He never could though. She had her mother's eyes.

Kicking those thoughts from her head, she threw the cigarette to the ground, the embers exploding like a miniature firework before she twisted her foot, making sure it was dead.

Turning back to the door, she pulled on the handle and jiggled the lock in the way she always did. Tired and eager for her walk to her car to see if it would start tonight, Sara fought with the door until the old lock finally worked and she pulled on the metal covering with all of her might so she could lock the window.

"Need some help, babe?" footsteps quickened across the street. Sara looked over her shoulder as a man appeared. He wore a beanie real low on his head and his jacket looked worn and dirty in the streetlight.

"I'm fine," she returned, yanking the rusty mechanism free.

"Let me help," he appeared beside her, helping pull down the barrier. "There." he said. "Wouldn't want you out this late, struggling in the part of the city. A girl as beautiful as you could really rouse a fuss."

"Thanks," Sara grumbled, locking the bolt.

"You work here?" he asked, antsy and skittish.

"I better be off," Sara stood, gripping her phone in her pocket.

"I asked you a question," he grinned pushing closer. "Don't make me," he looked down towards his pocket and flashed a blade. "Pretty thing as you are, I don't want to mess up that face."

For a moment, Sara thought the world went silent. She felt her body tense and the worlds fight or flight chanted in each muscle synapse. Sara kicked him in the shin and punched him as hard as her father had taught her. She had a solid right hook, and the man sputtered and recoiled slightly at it. But it didn't stop him completely. The man stumbled and snarled and Sara fought back as he punched and pushed her against the wall.

"I just need some cash, baby doll," he growled, soft in her ear as he sandwiched her against the brick. His forearm pushed her cheek into the brick while the other hand moved to her pockets.

She heeled his foot and elbowed his ribs. He staggered but slammed her back against the wall roughly. He had a good fifty pounds and maybe whole foot of height on her. Her eyes flared and nostrils flexed as she grew angry and wrathful like cornered animal when he pushed the blade against the flesh of her cheek.

"Calm down, blondie," he soothed. She saw a sliver of blood on his lips from where she'd punched him.

"Hey!" another voice appeared, yelling as it got nearer. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing to see here," he called over his shoulder. "Don't make a peep," he hissed at Sara, pressing the blade into the side of her coat. She squirmed and struggled.

"Let her go or I'll call the cops," the female voice insisted. Sara could hear the falter in it and shook her head. She was going to get mugged. Again. She rolled her eyes.

"Listen, walk away, little girl," the man called. "Or you're next -" he stopped speaking and let out a yell. "Oh, God, what the fuck?" he let go of Sara and the blade fell to the ground. Sara couldn't breathe either, the air filled with pepper spray.

Ducking, Sara reached for the the blade on the ground, eyes and throat burning. She turned around and popped up with it as the man twisted and rubbed his face.

"What the fuck!" he screeched between coughing fits. Sara took a moment to push him against the wall, clocking the side of his head with the brick as hard as she could. With an "Oomph," he crumpled to the ground, face read and sweating.

Bewildered, Sara held the blade up, searching for anyone else. All she found was a trembling blonde with a pink can of mace locked in her grip. Her eyes were big behind her glasses, afraid of what she'd just witnessed.

Caught in a stalemate, both holding weapons in defensive positions, the girls barely breathed but tried to catch their breaths. Sara slowly brought her forearm to her cheek and wiped away a trickle of blood from the slice of the blade as the would-be mugger fell.

"Thanks," Sara said, looking at the blood on the sleeve of her leather jacket. She wiped it on the leg of her pants, still slow because the other girl looked as if she was ready to mace her as well still.

Relaxing slightly, Sara folded the switch and put it in her pocket. She pulled out her pack and lighter.

"Smoke?" she offered the girl who still remained rigid and arms fixed in attack position. After a few seconds, the arm faltered, and lowered slightly.

"Is he... dead?" she asked, white-knuckle grip still on the canister. Her keys jangled when she tucked it close to her chest, though still ready to move. Behind her glasses, the girls eyes were big and wide. Sara grinned and put a cigarette between her lips, surveying the crumpled mass on the ground.

"He'll be fine," she shrugged, flicking her lighter and trying to get it lit.

"You're bleeding," the girl observed. Sara pressed her free hand to her cheek again. "No, there," she pointed at Sara's side. A cut had coloured her shirt red.

"Fuck," Sara grumbled, cigarette bouncing in her lips as she pocketed the lighter and pack and lifted her coat. "This is my favourite jacket." She wiggled a finger through the slice in it now near her chest.

"Your jacket?" the girl asked, incredulous.

"My favourite," Sara nodded, furrowing her brow. "Fucker," she growled as she kicked the downed man. He moaned and didn't get up. Sara took a deep drag of her cigarette, making the end glow deep red and fill the air with a nighttime grey.

"You're bleeding!" the girl insisted again.

"Just a scratch," Sara shrugged. She didn't want her cigarette anymore, so she flicked it, lopsided and all into the gutter. Maybe she was showing off to save face and regain some of that ego that was damaged in needing to be rescued. Maybe she was just a dick. Sara wasn't sure half of the time herself.

"Should we call an ambulance?" the girl asked, swallowing. She was still shaking like a leaf.

"I'm fine," Sara insisted, toying with the cut in her jacket, still mad about it.

"For him," the girl pocketed her ridiculous keychain in the giant bag hanging on her small shoulder.

"He's fine," Sara insisted. "You should head home. He probably has friends."

"Then you should get out of here too," the girl tried.

"Listen, thanks and all, but I can take care of things," Sara insisted indignantly. "I think it's past your bedtime and all. You probably shouldn't even be on this side of town."

The girl didn't belong here. From her pink skirt to ridiculously proper sweater and pearl earrings and ponytail, this girl would never show her face in the seedy bar Sara worked at, nor should she have been on the same street as it. Sara scoped her legs though, swallowing appreciatively and coughing slightly as she met the blonde's indignant eyes. She was geeky, that was for sure, but somehow it worked and made her infinitely more gorgeous. Sara was confused.

"I live here," the girl insisted. Sara smirked and chuckled.

"Right," Sara chuckled. "I can't believe a girl like you lives here, or that a girl like you, with a can of pink pepper spray helped me."

"I can't believe I helped such a... a... jerk," the girl mumbled. This didn't have its intended zing, and Sara tried to stifle her laugh. "I mean, of course you're a jerk. Just look at you," the girl rambled, shaking her head, talking with her hands. "I don't even know why I came over here. I should have just kept walking. The one day I had to be coming home late. You know, and I know better. I keep my head down. I shouldn't have-"

"I'm sorry," Sara held up her hands in mock surrender. "I didn't mean to be a jerk. Thank you for helping me."

"I'm just going to call the cops," the girl dug awkwardly in her bag for her phone. "Then I'll be gone."

"You don't want to do that," Sara said quickly, looking at the unconscious body.

"Of course I do," the girl mumbled into her bag. "This guy was mugging you." She pulled out her phone. Sara shook her head and flicked the cigarette into the gutter, no longer wanting it. She watched it summersault and sizzle in the water. The girl balanced a load of books in her arms, juggling everything awkwardly.

"Trust me," she said, pushing against her wet, bloody side. "It's more trouble than its worth. No one calls the cops here." She watched the girl debate it and look at the bloody side.

"Will you at least go to the hospital?" she asked, worried. She took a step forward and gently lifted the jacket, watched Sara's hand grip her side a bit tighter.

"I'm fine," Sara shook her head. The hospital meant questions, it meant calling someone to take her home, it meant bills.

With a slight nod, the girl looked once more at the man on the ground before turning her eyes back to Sara. She unabashedly looked her over, sizing her up. Sara could almost see her debating with herself about what to do. _She thinks I'm probably a dirty thug, just like that guy_, Sara thought to herself. _Look at her, she must think I'm worse than dirt_. Sara felt small under her gaze. She felt inadequate, more than anything, and that was a feeling she hated more than disappointing someone. Though, when she felt it, she usually deserved it for her own stupidity. Sara started to open her mouth again, but furrowed her brow when she realized she didn't know what to say. It didn't matter. The girl didn't give her any time to say whatever it could have been.

"I have some bandages at my place," the girl offered. "You need to get cleaned up."

Sara looked at her and looked at the man on the ground before pulling away her hand and seeing the blood. She debated her options, which were slim. She could go home and risk her father being awake and throwing a fit. Or she could go to her sister's place, and risk the same, and then her father would hear about it no matter what and throw another fit. Or she could try to call her friends, though they were probably wasted. She swallowed and looked back at the girl.

"Yeah, okay," she nodded. The girl didn't look convinced. "Thank you," she tried some form of genuine gratitude. It felt foreign to her.

Turning quite gracefully in her heels, the girl adjusted her heavy bag and arms brimming with big, heavy, pointy, old books and nudged her head for Sara to follow.

"We really shouldn't call the cops?" The girl asked, hugging her books and pushing up her glasses on her nose after tucking hair behind her ears. She looked over her shoulder anxiously. Sara just shook her head and followed, pushing against her side.

"No sense making enemies," she shrugged.

"He nearly killed you," the girl insisted. Sara stopped beside her on the corner. The girl stopped moving and looked both ways before crossing, despite the lack of traffic or people at all. Sara smiled to herself as she stopped as well, waiting for the girl to continue. It was adorable. That and the rambling Sara realized she was missing as she retreated to her own head to grin about the paradox of this girl she was following. "And it didn't make sense. Right? I guess I understand." Somehow she'd talked herself into understanding Sara's point without her having to open her mouth. Sara just nodded as they stopped about a block from the bar.

"I'm sorry," she paused, juggling books still and searching for her keys again. "This has just been... I mean... I'm a bit topsy turvy in my head right now," the girl continued. "Goodness gracious, you're bleeding and you really conked that guy's head," the girls eyebrows knit together anxiously. Finally she got her keys. "And I never talk to strangers. But I can't just leave you out there, or to wonder off. It's not bad, obviously, but I mean, it still..." she looked at Sara who was grinning at the entire show as she leaned against the storefront window. "I'm sorry. I get nervous..."

"You're cute," Sara smiled. Sara knew she could be charming when she wanted. Minor stab wound and all, she was laying it on thick just to see how nervous and frazzled she could make her rescuer. "Sara," she offered. "My name is Sara." The girl kept her head ducked and worked anxiously on the lock. "You know, so I'm not a stranger."

When the door opened, Sara was actually surprised. This girl with the books and the glasses and the inability to not be awkward at all times and carried pink mace actually lived on the same street as her skeevy bar. And above the Greek bakery Sara had once been sure was the front for a cocaine distributor.

"Felicity," the girl offered, flipping on a light in the stairwell that led to another door. "That is my name. I am Felicity. Smoak, I mean," she stuttered slightly, locking the door behind them. "Felicity Smoak."

Sara followed up the steps as the girl shook her head nervously. Again she unlocked another door and turned on the lights of the apartment. She locked it again behind them.

"Just, toss your coat," Felicity said, letting her books tumblr onto the table. She stood up and caught her breath, pushing her hair from her face. "I'll get... things..." she looked about her apartment nervously and disappeared quickly into the bathroom.

Sara found herself standing in the small apartment hearing only the shuffling of the girl in the bathroom. She made a note of surveying all she could, but the room only left her more confused. On the far side, hidden behind a large shelf sat a perfectly made bed. The shelf that divided the space was crammed with even more books. But it wasn't the only spot. The apartment had stacks of them, everywhere. From the brimming shelves, to stacked beside the small television and beside the long, old couch that still looked outlandishly comfortable, there were books everywhere, tucked in every spot.

There weren't many personal effects. A few picture frames Sara was too nervous to look at completely, a jewelry box on the dresser, a few more pictures on the fridge in the tiny kitchen. A large computer dominated the desk in the corner near the window. The blue from the neon sign out front burned through the curtain. Sara found herself enjoying the apartment. But her father had taught her well enough to look beneath what was showing. It was homey and personal in ways that weren't blatant like some people try to make it. Plus, it smelled like muffins from the bakery, and the warmth from the daily activities below seeped through the floorboards. Sara liked it. She liked that the magic of a sleeping city stole itself into the apartment as well.

A cat hopped onto the table and stretched before perching on the corner. Sara watched it scratch its head while she pulled her coat off, wincing at the pain from extending too much. She hissed and put her coat over the couch. The cat just stared with big green eyes.

"I brought some aspirin," Felicity returned, arms full again of supplies. Sara wasn't sure she'd ever see so much preparedness. "What would you like to drink?"

"Whiskey?" Sara turned to follow the girl into the kitchen.

"I have orange juice," Felicity said as she put the supplies on the kitchen counter. Everything about that exchange made sense to Sara.

"Water's fine," she said, awkward herself.

Felicity nodded, self-aware, and handed her a glass of water and two pills. She watched her drink, and then busied herself with precisely setting out the bandages and rages she brought.

"Thank you," Sara said again, placing the glass down.

"You might want to, um, you know," Felicity peaked her eyebrows, eyes darting everywhere but Sara. "You know, your shirt. I think it's ruined." Sara looked down at the open cut and her newly dyed piece of clothing. "Just, I'll turn around," Felicity offered quickly. "I can find you another to have. I have an old shirt, I'm sure, somewhere," she hurried off towards the dresser. Unfazed, Sara pulled hers off and threw it into the trashcan.

Finally able to survey the damage in proper lighting, Sara realized she wasn't in bad shape at all. It wasn't even terribly deep, and maybe four inches long. Blood pinked the skin around it, staining her slightly. The blood bothered Sara. She hated it. It made her sick. Now, looking at it, actually seeing her open skin, made her uncomfortable.

"Here," Felicity approached softly, finding Sara pale and looking at her side. "Um, are you alright?"

"I'm not a fan of blood," Sara met her eyes.

"Tough guy, huh?" Felicity smiled and put the shirt on the counter. "Just don't look."

"It wasn't so bad when I didn't see it. Out there, I couldn't see my own skin or it coming out of me. Now though," Sara swallowed and looked away while Felicity ran water in the sink.

"The adrenaline is wearing out," Felicity explained.

"Also, I hate blood," Sara sighed. Felicity rang the rag in the sink and lifted Sara's arm. She hissed and flexed her torso but still didn't look. "Fuck," Sara winced. "It's been one hell of a day." They both chuckled, looking at their present situation.

"Yeah," Felicity agreed, dabbing the rag on Sara's skin. "I stopped a mugging and invited a stranger to my apartment because she had a stab wound. And it's not every day I have a hot girl in my kitchen without a shirt on," Felicity prattled on without thinking. Her eyes focused so intently on getting rid of the dried blood that she didn't pay attention to what she was saying until she heard it. Sara grinned, cocksure and disarming, meeting Felicity's scared and embarrassed eyes. "I mean, you know. The mugging and whatnot. It was a surprise," she looked down quickly and shook her head and went back to wiping. "And I'm not looking. At your... you know... body. I'm just... I was just helping," she grew more and more fretful. Sara just shook her head and couldn't stop the grin.

"So you've never done this before then?" Sara ventured.

"Stitched up a stranger after pepper spraying a mugger at four in the morning?" Felicity shook her head. Sara found herself watching her and how much she said just in her expressions. "Nope. Can't say that I have."

"Well, doc, stitches then?" Sara asked, venturing a look at the cut. She regretted it.

"Yeah," Felicity nodded. "You see this," she ran her finger along Sara's skin. "The skin doesn't meet."

"I trust you," Sara inhaled and looked away.

"Can I take you to the hospital?" Felicity asked.

"Can you do it here?" Sara returned. With a heavy sigh, Felicity continued to wipe the rest of the blood from her hip and side. "Please, Felicity?" she asked, puppy dog eyes included. "I know we just met and all, but kind of trust you."

"Just sit tight," Felicity smiled soothingly and retreated again to the bathroom. While she was gone Sara looked again at the gash. She would have been content to slap a bandage on it and go home so this night would end. She wasn't new to stitches. She just wasn't a fan of the fact that they were needed to put her outsides back together. "Come on," Felicity pulled out a seat at the table, stacking her books on the ground and clearing it. "I need you to lay down. And grab that stuff." Sara did a she was told. "If you could just... lay... there," Felicity swallowed roughly, catching a look at Sara's shoulders. And holy cow, her body. She burned brightly and shook it from her head.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" Sara asked, trying to ignore the hurting in her side.

"Not that I can recall," Felicity nodded, lacing the needle. She let Sara situate herself and took the rag over the area again before she busied herself with sterilizing everything.

Staring at the ceiling in this stranger's apartment, Sara closed her eyes and braced herself. She shook her head slightly, wondering how she allowed herself to be brought here and why she hadn't just gone home to face her father. But that was the reason, in and of itself.

"Ready?" Felicity asked once she was ready.

"As I'll ever be," Sara sighed.

They were quiet as Felicity started. Her fingers trembled but she tried to keep it together as best she could. It was a night of firsts, and she was suddenly asked to do something kind of out of her element. But she did it like she'd seen done before and like she practiced when she was a kid, oddly thankful for her weird hobbies and mental acumen.

"So," Sara turned her head so she could see Felicity's face while she worked. She was focused and so close that Sara could feel her breath on her hip. It made her gulp. "Where did you learn to do this?"

"I read a book," Felicity didn't even look up. Her forehead was creased in concentration, her eyes were unyielding, her fingers precise. Sara nodded slightly.

"You know, I can't figure you out," Sara confessed. "How could a girl like you be out so late at night and live in a neighbourhood like this?"

"You say that, and I know it's not supposed to be an insult... 'girl like me,'" Felicity spoke but didn't look up. "But it feels like one." She looked kind of hurt by it which made Sara feel rotten.

"I just mean... well... I don't know," Sara closed her eyes. "This isn't the best side of town."

"But it's the cheapest," Felicity explained, pulling the thread. "And closest to the university." They were quiet and Sara still didn't get it. No one lived here by choice. "That's where I was, so late. Finals are coming," Felicity explained, pulling again. "I TA for a class and I had to finish the answer key for Early American History. Plus my paper is no where near ready to be published, which is what I'm working on. Then I have my actual tests as well for class," she listed. "I was stuck on a passage in this old book I found in the archives," she continued. "Before I knew it, it was so late. I have my thesis defence soon enough."

"So you're a genius?" Sara tried to calm her down.

"No," Felicity grinned to herself. "Just a PhD student with a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time."

"Maybe you shouldn't be operating on me. You're not even a doctor yet."

"True," Felicity acknowledged, not stopping. They were quiet again. Sara liked when Felicity splayed her fingers across her ribs to keep her still. She had cool hands that felt nice. "And you?" she asked quietly after she tied the last stitch. "What were you doing out so late?"

"I work at that place," Sara sat up on her elbows, surveying her handiwork. "Not too shabby, Smoak," she said, grinning widely at the surgeon.

Felicity blushed and went to work taping on a bandage before allowing Sara to get off the table slowly with her ache still subsiding. Awkwardly, Felicity washed her hands and made a point to hand Sara the shirt while averting her eyes respectfully.

Sara didn't waste time in grabbing her jacket and slipping it on as well.

"There's still," Felicity offered, holding up the rag, but stopping when Sara turned to her completely. "Here," she moved towards her cheek, slowly, gently. Sara froze and let her wipe at the scratch on her cheek. Behind her glasses, for the first time, Sara was able to see how big and brown her eyes were. They were warm and reminded her of a teddy bear, and they were her favourite type of eyes, she knew that. "There," Felicity said, ducking away quickly as she finished.

"I should head out," Sara nodded thankfully. "Thanks again for saving my life and all."

"Anytime, I guess," Felicity offered. "Can I call anyone, or get you a taxi, or something. You'll be alright?"

"I don't think even I have enough shitty luck to be mugged twice in one night," Sara laughed. "I mean it, though. Thank you. It was really brave, and really stupid." Felicity just offered a lopsided smile and refused to meet Sara's eyes.

"Get home safe," Felicity said at the door.

"I'll get this back to you," Sara referenced the shirt.

"Don't worry about it, it's old," Felicity shrugged and leaned against the open door.

Anxiously and exhausted they both stood at the stairs, waiting for Sara to leave. But she kicked and stalled for some reason. She played with the hold in her coat and frowned.

"It was nice to meet you, Felicity Smoak," she offered. Leaning over slowly she kissed Felicity's cheek which now burned bright red and gave off a heat that Sara swore she felt. "Thank you for everything."

"Yeah, no," Felicity nodded, shocked and surprised. "Whenever. Or whatever. Yeah, no problem," she swallowed hard and shook her head. She mentally slapped herself for playing it so cool.

When she finally closed the door after waving like a dork, Felicity leaned against it and tapped her head, embarrassed and confused. It'd been one hell of a night. Her cat rubbed against her leg and meowed with hunger. Felicity ran her fingers along her cheek where the kiss still radiated.

Sara made it home, finally, in a daze and opened the door to a quiet house and her father asleep in his room, snoring wildly as he was known to do. Silently she snuck along the hall to her room. Throwing her jacket on the pile of clothes in one corner and slipping out of her jeans and socks and shoes, she climbed under the blankets and allowed herself to exhale the pent of breath she kept since before she kissed Felicity's cheek.

Though she was exhausted, she found herself unable to sleep with the lingering smell of laundry soap and vanilla radiating from her new t-shirt.


End file.
